


For This Moment

by zanoranna (rei_c)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, F/M, Family, Freedom Fighters, Independence, Terrorism, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/zanoranna
Summary: In November 2010, ETA blows up the Santiago Bernabéu. Years later, Xabi Alonso becomes their spokesman. This is his journey.
Relationships: Xabi Alonso/Nagore Aranburu





	For This Moment

**Author's Note:**

> _For This Moment_ touches lightly on the politics and actions of ETA, and the organisation is portrayed in a positive light. I understand that this can be extremely uncomfortable and possibly triggerish to many people. This story is not intended to glorify terrorist action and should not be read as an endorsement of such actions.

On November 25, 2010, ETA sets off a bomb outside of the Santiago Bernabéu. They call the stadium an hour before the bomb's set to go off, their standard operating procedure, and the police move quickly to evacuate the stadium of staff, players, management, and tourists.

They don't find the bomb.

Xabi Alonso is standing outside when one half of the stadium simply -- simply explodes.

Arrangements are made for them to play at the Vicente Calderón, like older brothers come begging the younger for leftover scraps, the prodigal child of Madrid when they used to be the best. It bothers some of the others; Sergio chafes and Cris parades around the pitch during practice as if his bravado might transfer ownership of the grounds to _los merengues_. Both reactions are hollow and ring false, and Xabi watches them as the world rearranges itself. 

La Liga reschedules matches, changes match times and locations for after the Christmas break, but this isn’t home and everyone knows it. UEFA grants them special dispensation and postpones their European games, but it doesn’t help. Pérez apologises and gives them new things, shining and smelling of money, but it’s not the same.

This isn’t the Santiago Bernabéu. This isn’t home. This is -- Xabi watches, listens, and plays his heart out, but this isn’t good enough. This isn’t the way it should be. 

He goes back to Liverpool when Leo is born; he and Fernando have, inexplicably, grown much closer since Xabi returned to Spain and the summer's World Cup only strengthened their deepening friendship. It's something that neither of them expected to happen, but Sergio has been gravitating towards Iker ever since Fernando left and Xabi has never had much in common with the others apart from Arteta, who will probably never be called up to the national team. 

Sometimes Xabi wonders if it's Liverpool, if the city sinks its claws in deep and only the others who have been there, have played there, have lived and breathed and bled there, can understand. Fernando does, without words, a world of meaning communicated in every glance between them. Perhaps it has something to do with Gerrard, a man they both love and will never have. Maybe they are like others through countless centuries who come together based on the love of another, one who will never love them back, who find solace in each other and grow immeasurably closer because of their loss. 

Whatever the reason or the cause, Fernando asks Xabi to be Leo's godfather and Xabi agrees. He watches the game and misses Anfield though the team, they're struggling in different ways than Real, harder ways, in some respect. He watches the game, misses Steven like the loss of a limb, and then leaves to go to the hospital when Fernando texts that Leo's been born, a tiny, perfect baby boy.

At the hospital, Xabi and Fernando hug, the first time since the World Cup, and Fernando draws a finger across Xabi's forehead and the lines that are starting to sink in even when Xabi's smiling. 

"I've worried about you," Fernando murmurs. "You. You've seemed so distant, lately." 

"I'm here now," Xabi says. 

He meets Leo, leans down and kisses Olalla, and has never felt less like he belongs. 

ETA takes Christmas off through Epiphany but they start again soon after, retaliation for the imprisonment of Antza and Anboto. They'd called a ceasefire in September and ended it within six weeks; this is worse than that, a full-out declaration of war, it seems. Added to that, Aurore Martin has gone into hiding and Xabi reads in _El Pais_ that the government is conducting raids in Gipuzkoa and Navarre, searching for her. 

During the first week of February, Xabi skips out on a Tuesday training session and drives to Tolosa, parking in front of his brother's house after the five hour trip, stretching for a moment before he knocks on the front door and walks in. He's never had to wait for someone to answer before but he thinks maybe he should have this time. 

Aurore Martin is sitting at the kitchen table, looking at him, as Mikel freezes mid-step, halfway between the table and the doorway. Xabi stands there, glances between Aurore and Mikel, and says, carefully, "I could come back." 

"Nonsense," Aurore says. "Please, sit down, Xabier." 

Xabi holds her gaze as Mikel hovers. He finally says, "Thank you, Aurore," and sits down across from her. 

March turns into April, then May, then it's summer. Xabi and Nagore go home, back to Tolosa, take Jon and Ane into the Basque Country and Xabi teaches Jon Euskara and sings lullabies to Ane in the old Gipuzkoan dialect that Xabi remembers from his childhood. Jon doesn't like the lessons -- though he does enjoy being close to his cousins and his extended family -- but Ane takes to the air and the people as if this is her _home_ and Xabi can see the traits of the Basque in the strong, imperious way she tosses her head, in the implacable line of her jaw and the darkness in her eyes. 

After two months of being in Tolosa, Xabi has all but forgotten the outside world, has forgotten football and Liverpool and Madrid, picking up groceries and talking to the store clerks in Euskara, calling his family by nicknames that had slipped his mind when he left San Sebastián, going for hikes in the mountains and feeling connected to this land, to its people and its history and its fight. 

He and Nagore go out for dinner one night, the children left with a sitter, and they're walking from the restaurant to the car-park when they pass Aurore on the street, arm-in-arm with a young man from a militantly separatist family. She inclines her head, greets him, says, "Xabier, Nagore. Enjoying a pleasant evening, I hope?" 

Nagore bristles in Xabi's arm but he smiles at Aurore, says, "Thank you," in Euskara, the same language she addressed him in, "we are. Have a good evening." 

Another year comes and goes. Xabi is linked with moves to a number of different clubs but he stays in Madrid and plays for them, though his heart has gone elsewhere, can't be found in the new Santiago Bernabéu. The Euros are coming up and his contract has expired; Xabi does not sign a new one and he turns down del Bosque's call-up to the national squad. 

He and Nagore take Jon and Ane back to Tolosa for a fortnight, then they buy a house just outside of San Sebastián, close to the mountains. He and Nagore talk long into the night, most nights, and Xabi doesn't return any calls from his former teammates, Fernando, Iker, and Gerrard included. He takes every call from his brother, though, and a good majority of Aurore's, and in the end, what happens is a complete accident. 

Xabi is in the city, shopping with Nagore for a wedding present for Iker, and as they walk past the local office of _El Mundo_ , a woman comes out, shoves a voice recorder under Xabi's face, and asks, "Xabi Alonso, you've become incredibly difficult to get a hold of. Do you have any explanation for not renewing your contract, for not joining up with the national squad, and for moving back here?" 

Nagore snaps at the woman, harangues her for interrupting them, but Xabi merely smiles and says, "Perhaps I simply missed my home." 

The woman blinks, stares at him for a moment before she catches herself. "Do you have any thoughts on the recent arrest of an accused ETA leader, here in San Sebastián? Or on last month's parliamentary action, calling for a united military strike against ETA?"

Xabi should go, he shouldn't say anything, but Nagore is watching him as well and they've talked about this, Xabi and his wife, just like he's talked about it with Aurore, in long and sprawling conversations where neither of them say what they mean but dance around the topic with extreme care. Xabi glances at his wife and she nods, just enough for him to see, before she lifts her chin. 

In that moment, Xabi has never loved her more. In that moment, with her eyes flashing and her hair snapping in the breeze, Xabi has never loved anyone or anything in the world more than he does Nagore.

"The parliament can do what they want," Xabi finally says, turning back to the woman. "I think everyone knows that it won't matter in the end. Until the world governments recognise a free Euskal Herria, ETA will continue to fight in the only ways that have brought attention to the plight and oppression of the Basque nation. Thank you." 

He walks away, leaves the woman stunned, still holding up her recorder as she watches him leave. 

"You should call Mikel," Nagore finally says, ten minutes and one hastily-bought present later, as they're in the car on the way back to their home. "He'll want to know." 

"Did I," Xabi starts to say, stops. As much as he wants Nagore's approval, he already knows he did the only thing he could. Xabi has been many things throughout his life, but he has never been one to feel doubt or to question his actions in hindsight. Xabi doesn't act without thinking first, has always been a solemn and thoughtful person, and what he said, what he did, the new role he stepped into and the line he crossed by answering that woman's questions, it's been coming for a while. 

Nagore reaches over, takes Xabi's hands and twines her fingers in with his. "I'm proud of you," she says. She sounds tired, already, because they've discussed this possibility and now that the possibility has become reality, they know what will come next and what they must do. "I'm proud of you and I love you," she says. 

Xabi doesn't know what he'd do without her. 

Arteta calls him first, asks him what the hell he thinks he's doing, then hangs up before Xabi can say anything in response. Llorente calls as well, doesn't say much but gets the point across that Xabi is infinitely more brave and more stupid than anyone ever gave him credit for. Fernando calls, and Sergio, and Iker, and even Gerrard; Xabi doesn't take their calls and doesn't return them, either. 

The Basque football team calls him a month later and asks him if he's going to get his managing credentials. Xabi has been working on it for a year, already, and they tell him that they'll have a place for him when he's done. _El Mundo_ calls and so does _El Pais_ but Xabi doesn't call them back until he's good and ready and has three ETA spokespeople in his living room along with Aurore and Nagore. Xabi has hammered out his own position over the past few years, narrowed to pin-prick sharp points in conversations with his brother and Aurore. He has also been coached and the three are there to make sure he doesn't say too much or too little about the wrong things in the wrong ways. Xabi talks and answers questions and gives his own opinions, always careful to maintain a veneer of distance from the separatist movement. 

It goes well. 

ETA cells set off several more bombs over the summer, carefully coincided with the Euro 2012 games that Spain and France play. They hit transportation centres in Spain and France, as well as the homes of politicians, reporters, and media figures. The newspapers call him and the police search his home, but Xabi is careful to point out that he's a sympathiser, not a separatist, even as he's straddling the line between the two. 

"It is impossible to be Basque and not feel as if ETA is doing something sorely needed," he tells a journalist from the local San Sebastián paper. "Until the Spanish government steps away from their past policies and recognises the Basque as their own nation, with all rights and privileges, I don't believe that ETA will stop." 

"Are you advocating violence, then?" the journalist asks. Her eyes are wide; no matter how many interviews Xabi gives, mostly saying the same things over and over, the media is always stunned to hear him speak out.

Xabi gives her a smile and shakes his head; Nagore reaches over, twines her fingers in with his. The two of them look at each other, a wealth of words exchanged in the glance. Xabi finally turns back to the girl, can't help but thing she's so young, and says, "I always tell my children that violence is never the answer, never the solution. To be fair, though, I always add that violence will sometimes get someone to listen to you, in order to achieve your goal. Violence, destruction, terrorism -- that's not ETA's goal. It's just the only way people will listen."

By the time Xabi achieves his managing credentials, he's become a polarising figure. The people in San Sebastián love him, people in Gipuzkoa have trouble connecting Xabi the serious child with Xabi the de facto spokesman for an internationally-recognised terrorist organisation, and people in the rest of Spain don't seem to know how to react to him at all. He's part of the legendary _rioja_ squad who earned a Euro title and a World Cup title for Spain and he had a distinguished career in both England and Spain's top flights. He's also the man who has quietly but fiercely embraced his place of birth, refusing to speak in public in anything but Euskara, the man who refused -- politely, but still _refused_ \-- a contract extension at Real Madrid and a call-up to a national squad peppered with his friends. 

Xabi stands on the touchline, wearing a suit and a tie to match the colours of the Euskal Herriko Selekzioa currently playing Catalonia. It's strange, a little, to be shouting directions at Fernando Llorente and Javi Martínez, watching as they play against Carles and Busquets, seeing Victor in goal, but Xabi yells in triumph as his team scores and he feels, in a sudden flush of knowledge, that this is where he belongs. 

In 2014 Xabi becomes an official spokesperson for ETA. He's arrested after his first press conference speaking under ETA's banner and spends three days in jail before he's released. Nagore is waiting for him when he walks out of the building to a gathering of the press and a hundred flashbulbs going off around him. Xabi smiles at his wife, holds out his hand, and she takes it as the reporters and journalists shout questions at him. 

"Saint Ignatius," Xabi says, "once prayed that God would teach us to give and not to count the cost. I am not a religious man but that seems like good advice. I do as my conscience leads and there is no price too high to pay for a clean conscience. Good day." 

Xabi goes home. Jon, his six-year-old eyes too old, far too knowing, is waiting at the door, holding Ane's hand as she holds her stuffed giraffe by the neck in a death-grip in her other hand.

"Will you go away again, daddy?" she asks. 

Xabi drops to a crouch, gives Ane a soft smile and says, "I might. I don't want to, but I might have to." 

Ane ponders that and finally says, "I don't want you to."

"I don't want to, either," Xabi says. Ane lets go of Jon, then, and runs for Xabi, throws her arms around his neck. "I love you, Ane." He looks up at Jon, adds, "I love you, too, Jon. So much." 

"Then why do you have to do this?" Jon asks. It's a serious question asked evenly, which means that Jon's had time to parse out his anger and he's ready to listen. 

Xabi picks up Ane as he stands, settles her on his hip. "Because I believe in Euskal Herria," Xabi says. "I believe in having a _home_. And they need someone like me, someone who has all those medals you played with when you were younger. It seems they aren't interested in listening to anyone else."

"Do you love being Basque more than you love us?" Jon asks. 

With his heart breaking, Xabi says, "No. But I want you to be who and what you are when you grow up. And if you decide you want to be Basque, not merely Spanish, then I have to do this _now_ , so that you won't have to." Jon looks like he wants to say something but won't; Xabi can guess what's on his son's mind. "And if you want to move and pretend you have no idea who I am or if you decide that I've been wrong, or that it doesn't matter, or anything else, I won't love you any less. You're my _son_ , Jontxu. Nothing will change that, not ever." 

Jon holds Xabi's gaze for a long, timeless moment, before he finally nods and some of the worry leaks out from his shoulders, dissipates in the air. Nagore squeezes Xabi's shoulder and walks past them, heading for the kitchen.

"Lunch!" Ane yells, and Xabi laughs even as his ear is ringing. 

"Come on," Xabi says, holding out his hand for Jon. "We should go see what's for lunch before the greedy munchkin here eats it all."

Ane's disagreeing with her father's assessment -- loudly -- as Jon takes Xabi's hand and tugs him towards the kitchen.

Northern Ireland becomes part of Eire in 2038, slipping out from under the thumb of England's king. Xabi feels as if he's getting older every day and he still dreams of a free Basque country. There are signs that his dreams may be getting closer; Xabi stands in the crowd as Jon gets sworn into San Sebastián's local government by his sister, both of them speaking Euskara and wearing the colours of ETA as people around them cheer. 

Even five years ago, something like this would have been unheard of. It gives Xabi hope. 

Nagore leans against him; he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. On his other side, Mikel and Aurore stand hand in hand, and when Jon has been sworn in and is officially a part of the government, he looks right at the four of them and smiles. The crowd quiets, anticipating Jon's speech. 

Jon takes a deep breath, then turns his gaze over the crowd. "A wise man once told me that he believed in Euskal Herria, a free Basque country, and that he would do what he had to in order to bring that dream to fruition, to keep his conscience clean, and to give his children the freedom to be and do whatever they wanted. That man is my father, and today I pledge myself to his fight, to his goals, and to his dream."

The crowd erupts into cheers and screams of approval. Xabi can only look at Jon, who smiles back at him and applauds in Xabi's direction. 

Later that night, back at their home, Xabi and Nagore stand in the doorway to the living room and watch as their children, son-in-law and daughter-in-law, grandchildren, friends, laugh and celebrate and eat together. 

"We did good," Nagore says, and she turns to look at Xabi. 

"It was all worth it," Xabi says. "Everything that we did was worth it, for this moment." He bends his head, gives Nagore a kiss, and then lets his grandsons pull him into the living room.


End file.
